


You Should Be Scared of Me

by PositivePumpkin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley gets summoned while hanging out with The Them, Demon Summoning, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Other, Violence, death of characters so minor they dont have names, emotional whiplash for the reader, get ready, gone wrong, he's not happy about this, how did it become angsty, so you should've seen that one coming, this was based on a shitpost, which is the precurser to death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-03 22:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20460323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/pseuds/PositivePumpkin
Summary: This is a story about smuggling a snake onto a crowded metro and no one noticing a thing.Or, more accurately, Crowley gets summoned by some humans while hanging out with The Them. They are quick to get Aziraphale.





	1. Summoning Circles are Like Phone Numbers for Demons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kazeetease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazeetease/gifts).

> This is based off of [this](https://seananmcguire.tumblr.com/post/156800593200/vintar-vintar-i-used-to-get-self-conscious) post.

After the failed Apocalypse (or the Apocock-up as Crowley was calling it, and the Spot-of-Trouble-the-Other-Day as Aziraphale was calling it) things had understandably changed. For starters, Heaven and Hell were off their respective backs. With this newfound freedom, the angel and demon had begun spending much more time together than they had in literal thousands of years. Where before they’d meet up on occasion every few decades (or centuries,) usually to dine out and not do what they were supposed to be doing, nowadays they were meeting up several times a week.

Aside from their new closeness, free to be together without fear of scrutiny, they also had a few new human friends. They’d ended up exchanging numbers with Anathema, Newt, and the Them. Of course, they already had Shadwell’s number (and so Madam Tracy’s,) which led to some embarrassment between the two, realizing their ‘agents’ on earth were the same old man.

The two occult (and ethereal, Crowley!) beings had made a standing lunch-date with their new human companions every other Sunday. They’d meet at Anathema’s cottage and sit outside for tea and talking. At least, Crowley would stay outside, even when invited in, he’d make some excuse to avoid going into the cottage. Had to yell at the garden to make sure it was growing well for Anathema, had to look after Dog, had to make sure the Bentley was okay, had to take a nap on the bench, and much more, getting more elaborate and ridiculous as time went on.

It took half a year before anyone realized there was an actual reason why. Apparently, the efforts Anathema made to keep out malevolent forces was enough to keep Crowley out, not that he ever mentioned it. And he wouldn’t have mentioned it ever if he had his way. The only reason anyone found out, was because Aziraphale had tried to carry the demon inside while he was napping, in an attempt to keep him out of the rain.

Crowley could only let out a startled yelp as he woke up to being violently flung from Aziraphale’s arms. Anathema came running towards the door, having felt the barrier activate. Aziraphale was confused and concerned until he looked up, having never noticed the blessed iron horseshoe over the door. The angel frowned, eyes glowing with holy righteousness as he made to remove the horseshoe.

“Aziraphale, don’t,” Crowley said firmly, stopping Aziraphale’s hand. When the angel whipped around, fury still clear on his face as he angrily started to protest, the demon put his hands up nonthreateningly. “Angel,” Crowley said, much more gently this time as his expression softened in the face of Aziraphale’s rage, “it’s to keep out evil, best to keep it really. Much worse out there than me.” 

This led to the current discussion between the Them and Crowley. See, the Them had decided without needing to confer, that they would show Crowley their little base in Hogback Wood. Well, more like point the way. Adam was sitting on Crowley’s shoulders, Brian and Wensleydale were each being held by one of his arms, and Pepper had the good sense not to be carried. It had started harmlessly enough, as things tend to do, with questions. But this time, Crowley was going to make damn sure no one fell.

Adam, the leader in The Them, was likewise leading the questions. It started with some basic ones, “how strong are you? Stronger than a human, right? Gotta be.” To which the answer, was a resounding yes, which led to the three boys being carried, and Pepper deciding she wasn’t about to join them, despite assurances that yes, Crowley could and would carry her all the way to their little kingdom in the woods. But, someone had to walk with Dog, who still regarded Crowley with suspicion (and on one memorable occasion tried to bite him,) and Pepper wasn’t keen on being held.

As they walked, Adam continued to ask questions, after all, if he had been the Anti-Christ, Son of Satan, wasn’t he a little demonic too? He certainly wasn’t completely human at least. So, the questions spilled out, what things did Crowley have to avoid? Holy water, consecrated ground, and normal things that could discorporate him, but he was still tougher than a human and he’d have to be surprised to be taken out with human methods. And discorporation only became a problem recently, after flipping the two-fingered salute to Hell. There was of course spells, charms, and other things (like the blessed iron horseshoe) that could repel him, though not outright harm him.

What were the limits of his powers? Well, Crowley figured if he could imagine it, he could do it. Which isn’t exactly what he said, didn’t need to let the little buggers know that, lest Adam be able to shape reality still. Wouldn’t do to kickstart Armageddon again on accident. He wasn’t limitless, demonic miracles and curses (or miracles and blessings for the angelic variety) had a scale to them after all.

Which of course was the next question, this time from Wensleydale, about the magnitudes and how they scaled. Minor miracles were passive or almost passive, things worked for the demon (and angel) because they should, regardless of whether or not that was true. Changing clothes, keeping one’s cocoa at the perfect temperature, and removing a stain from a well-worn, well-loved coat jacket were also quite minor. The everyday, moderate sized miracles they used, typically by snapping their fingers (or some other outward direction,) varied the greatest. There were far too many examples to give for the moderately sized miracles, best to know what a big one and small one was, Crowley figured, cause if it wasn’t big or minor, then it was moderate. Big miracles are the heavy duty: bringing dead back to life and stopping time being the first on his mind. And, keeping a flaming Bentley together right up until it arrived at the gates to the End of the World, but he didn’t like to think on that.

Adam wasn’t interested in miracles, demonic or otherwise. He wanted to know more about demons, anything Crowley could tell him. His fixation on knowing, what might possibly apply to him, overriding the other’s questions about the differences between demonic miracles and angelic miracles. No, none of that was important compared to knowing what he was, not a human, not an Anti-Christ, something in-between.

Crowley was explaining how the world reacted to his presence, animals feared him, people were trickier, some were drawn to him, others repulsed. He was about to get into a tangent on his dislike of horses, the flighty animals always bucked him off or tried to crush him with their hooves, when he heard something not unlike a whistle. And like a dog, or like Dog whose ears were perked up, he turned towards it, listening, assessing. He tensed, and could feel Adam reacting, hand’s tightening their hold in reaction to some unseen pressure settling over Crowley.

Quickly, faster and clumsier than he meant he deposited Brian and Wensleydale. He was wracked with pain, scales beginning to take over his skin, but he kept it together, long enough to pick Adam off his shoulders and set him down. Crowley curled, tightly doubling over in pain, when the kids tried to come closer, he hissed, baring fangs longer than normal and dripping with venom at his distress, “Stay back!”

“What’s happening?” Adam, calm in the face of the apocalypse, but now his voice trembled. Just seconds ago, everything was fine, and they were having a grand time. But now, Crowley was changing before their eyes, into something they hadn’t seen before, or at least hadn’t seen from him. Then from the earth around him, in a tight circle, Hellfire spewed out, covering Crowley. When the flames ceased, Crowley was gone. In his place a burned circle, The Them weren’t sure what it was exactly, but they’d seen enough movies to guess it was some kind of summoning or rune circle. They looked at each other, horror still alight in their eyes, and decided without saying a word that they needed to go back to the cottage and get Anathema and Aziraphale.

By the time Crowley reappeared in the mortal plane, he was fully snake. His coils were tightly wrapped in a too-small circle, scales pressed against the borders of the Seal of Solomon, Devil’s Trap, almost painfully. His tongue flicked out as he took in his surroundings, head raising up, looking down on the room he’d been conjured to. He could smell the sweaty musk of multiple humans, a mess of ingredients for spellwork, the faint tingle of human magic, and _blood. A lot of blood._ A group of over a dozen robed humans were on their knees, forehead on the floor, hands out with palms flat on the ground. Bowing to him.

One human stood, he was holding a chalice in one hand with a facsimile of a rosary wrapped around the hand and cup, at the end of which had an ouroboros charm with a pentagram inside the circling snake and in the other hand, an _ancient_ book. Not one immediately recognizable to Crowley, he didn’t read after all, but the contents of which were probably laid out in this room. He hissed, turning his head once more to regard the rest of the room, when he saw a body.

The body of a young girl, old enough to be an adult by human law, but young enough to still be a _child_. Her blood spilled out of her throat, and with a flick of his tongue, he realized the very seal he was trapped in was made of her blood, and more was in the chalice. A deep, dark and ugly rage filled him then. He could feel it warming him from the inside out, ruby red scales belly barely encompassing the flames of wrath building deep in his gut.

“Oh, Serpent of Eden,” the standing human, the no-doubt leader of this cult spoke, voice booming as he tried to make himself sound important. “Great Beast of Hell, Creator of Original Sin, Thou Who Blights Each Day, we have summoned you to the mortal plane, to Earth, to wreak unholy destruction upon our enemies.” He bowed slightly, arms out, taking care not to spill the chalice.

Crowley flicked his tongue, smelling the sins of this human. Pride and Wrath, being the strongest, but there were definite hints of Greed and disturbingly, Lust. He adjusted slightly, leaning forward as much as he dared, and set his unblinking gaze on the leader-human. “So, you’ve summoned me. Well-done.” The sibilance of his voice was deeply pronounced now, his fangs gleamed in the flickering candle lit as he shifted his large scaled body before continuing, “bit cramped in here, though. Care to let me out?”

The leader flinched, unbelievably surprised the massive snake before him was speaking. Ridiculous, what did he expect summoning a demon? _Humans_, Crowley thought sardonically. The human stuttered, thoroughly shaken, as if he’d been more expecting a loyal attack-beast, than a sentient demonic entity, “uh, well, we uh, we’ll release you, once you’ve sworn your service to us, that is.”

“Service to you?” He open mouth hissed, a facsimile of a laugh, sounded as close to a huff as he could make in this form. He rubbed his scales together, making a dry sort of rasping noise that increased in volume until it was a loud drone, hoping this would cause unease among those gathered. “I don’t think you understand the position you’re in, human,” he growled now, made sure the human could see the bright, supernaturally glowing venom that eagerly dripped from his fangs. Crowley raised up higher, puffing up as much as he could in this tight, cramped space, “I am a demon, and believe me when I say you don’t want to cross me further.”

Leader-human took a step back, before he seemed to compose himself and bravely stepped forward, just before the edge of the circle. He awkwardly flipped the pages of his book, trying not to spill from his chalice. This close, Crowley thought about spitting venom straight into the man’s eyes, but the hood he was wearing would inhibit that, best to save that party trick for when he had a clear shot.

When Leader-human found what he was looking for he held the chalice high and began chanting. The pronunciation was awful, and the words were being butchered spectacularly in some instances. This wasn’t good, a botched spell could have disastrous results in the best-case scenarios. Crowley growled, trying for intimidating, but he was actually kind of scared. This book allowed them to summon him, force him into a snake form, and now what? He could feel a sort of buzzing, not the drone of his scales rubbing, but an insistent noise in his head making things fuzzy.

“You will do our bidding Serpent, I command you!” The phrase was clumsily butchered in some dead language, one Crowley hadn’t heard in long enough to remember the name of. He felt an itch under his scales, something compelling, but not to do any bidding, no, this was much worse. The Leader-human kept chanting, after realizing the first go through didn’t work as planned.

“Stop your nattering,” Crowley watched, waiting for the movement of Leader-human’s head, to pinpoint where he was going to spit his venom. If not his eyes, maybe while he was talking, he could burn the human’s tongue to stop this shoddy spellwork. “You’re butchering the spell,” he tried warning, but Leader-human wasn’t listening, and his surroundings were starting to become fuzzy as he felt the warmth of something akin to Hellfire filling his system.

With a final word, the spell was complete, and Crowley was lost in demonic energy, blinding him to everything but pain and _Wrath_. He wasn’t Crowley anymore, not really. He was reduced to that mess of anger, hurt, betrayal that he had been immediately following his Fall. The twisting, writhing mess of scales burnt black, red belly from breathing in the Hellfire between screams of torment, gold bled out of eyes to be replaced with brimstone yellow. He wasn’t even Crawly yet, not sentient enough to be a named thing.

The idiotic humans didn’t know what they’d done summoning him here. What they’d done butchering a spell made for control, turning it into a spell to make him unhinged. And most unfortunate, the circle couldn’t hold him anymore. See, what humans often don’t understand, is that names have power. And when you summon a Serpent and then unmake it, you can’t expect a mere circle (even a Seal of Solomon, unless perhaps it was the actual Solomon who made it, he did have the magic touch as it were) to hold what has be unleashed.

The Serpent’s writhing mass burst from the tight confines of the circle, growing impossibly larger before it turned it’s angry hazed over gaze to Leader-human. Lightning fast, fangs ripped into the human’s chest, venom secondary to the crushing maw beginning to work him down the Serpent’s throat. Before it could swallow the bastard whole, screaming from the other humans gathered distracted him. Without thought, as the Serpent was beyond thought at the moment, it dropped the now dead Leader-human.

Before the humans could flee, the Serpent’s startlingly quick coils curled around the gathered, blocking the exit with his still growing form. The table holding the body of the girl had been pushed aside along with all the miscellaneous spell materials, the dead not interesting to the Serpent. It was a hunter, eyes following the mad scramble of the humans, like a mischief of mice before the hungry snake. But this Serpent didn’t hunger for food, no, now it only hungered for the death of those foolish enough to hurt it.


	2. Crowley Can't Come to the Phone Right Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse before they get better. TW mentions of death/gore/blood

Aziraphale and Anathema were nose-deep in books, discussing the possibility of making it so Crowley could join them in the cottage, while still keeping out any unwanted evils. Not that Aziraphale really thought of Crowley as evil. Just, mischievous, perhaps. Certainly not enough to warrant him being locked out of the house like this. And the poor dear’s resignation! Oh, how had he not noticed sooner?

He worried his lip as he contemplated what, if anything really could be done. But they couldn’t test any of their theories until Crowley returned with the children. And, well, he was a little worried Crowley would be hurt, physically from their tests, or emotionally from their insistence that he be able join them. Aziraphale couldn’t help pursing his lips and spinning the ring on his pinky finger as he read, completely forgetting about his cup of tea, growing cold with neglect.

He didn’t think they’d been at it long, when he heard the tell-tale rumble of children’s feet. He looked up and sure enough, there was The Them, running towards the cottage. They burst into the garden, nearly destroying the gate in their haste, slamming it open with a harsh noise. Aziraphale couldn’t really help the frown, or the displeased turn of his lips as he was about to chastise the children’s carelessness, before he realized, Crowley wasn’t with them. He briefly remembered a strange flair, he’d thought it had been a demonic miracle, some magic to delight the children.

“Where? What happened?” He was getting up before he meant to, before he realized The Them all had faces flashing with fear. Aziraphale walked over, almost unwilling to wait for their gasping breaths to cease enough for words. Anathema quickly ran out from inside, arms full of bottled water. He hadn’t even noticed she left, but soon The Them each had a bottle and were drinking.

“Crowley, he,” Adam breathed, trying to figure out how, what happened, “I don’t, I’m not sure. There was, this pressure, I felt it, before he set us down, me and Brian and Wensleydale. Something was wrong, he had scales, and fangs, and he yelled at us, before, before…” Adam was gasping again, words coming out quickly as he tried to get it all out.

“There was fire, and he was gone. There’s this burnt circle thing on the ground where he was,” Pepper, smart and whip-quick Pepper was filling in when Adam couldn’t. The Them were rightly flustered, looking nervously at Aziraphale as if he could fix everything. Well, he didn’t know if he could, but he’d try.

“Okay,” He got down low, crouching like he’d seen Crowley do every time he talked to a child, getting on their level, he had said, “I need you to remain calm, I will do everything in my power to make sure Crowley is okay, believe me.” It had the desired effect, calming the children, Adam especially, got that look in his eye, determination. “Now please, take me to this circle posthaste,” Aziraphale pressed, standing back up. With a motion, he had the books he might need wrapped in cord and he was following The Them.

“I’ll stay here,” Anathema called behind them, “in case he comes back, and in case…” She closed her eyes tightly, “in case he needs help, I’ll get everything I can think of ready.” She turned and bustled, ordering Newt to pick things she might need, any contingency, any counter curse, anything she could possibly even think to might need.

When they arrived, the circle still hadn’t grown cold. It still smoldered but didn’t catch the neighboring grass alight. Without concern for his clothes, which would have troubled the demon, but then he wasn’t here and that was the problem, Aziraphale knelt on the ground by the circle. He opened one of his books, not one written by any scholarly human, but instead written by himself.

A long time ago, he’d made a habit of collecting and cataloguing works related to demonology. He’d made notes, taking what was factual, what could be used, and then destroying any works left. While they may not have been as close as they were now, Aziraphale had long been fiercely protective of his friend, _his_ demon. If he could help it, he wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt him, to subjugate him, or worse. There’d been times he didn’t or couldn’t get there before the knowledge had been used. Each time he picked up the pieces, took the books, manuals, scrolls, parchment, and in one horrific case a book made of pages of human skin.

Aziraphale had never been more grateful that he had taken up that habit. He leafed through his notes, noticing the details of the circle, the demonic version of a call history showing that he’d been picked up. While it wouldn’t tell him where he had been summoned to exactly, it narrowed it down to on Earth, not summoned by Hell at least. A small relief, but, considering the cruelties of humans, maybe it shouldn’t be.

He made an inquiring hum, as he flipped through his book some more. The kids behind him anxiously flitted about, but the concern and fear silenced their questions, thankfully allowing Aziraphale to work uninhibited. He noted that the circle had been specific to Crowley, or rather, Crawly. A direct number to call the Serpent of Eden, which was both troubling and a relief. It was no wonder then, why he had started to change before the summoning took full effect.

When he couldn’t find anything more about the circle from his notes, he pushed out with his energy, searching for where the demon was. He could feel demonic presences, low-level minor demons flitting about throughout London, but not the unmistakable presence of _his_ demon. Aziraphale couldn’t help his grunt of frustration as he rose back up to his full height, protective fury making him seem taller.

“Children, please return to the cottage,” He turned, to look at Adam and the rest of The Them. He tried to smile reassuringly, but it was tight with the stress of the situation. When Adam looked about to protest, Aziraphale hushed him, “don’t worry, I’ll bring him back, safe and sound. You know he’s probably annoying whomever had the unfortunate gall to summon him.” That seemed to cheer Them up, as they walked back, they began coming up with outlandish theories for what torments Crowley had unleashed on his captors.

Of course, only Aziraphale knew what horrors could actually be occurring, a human capable of summoning Crowley, the means alone were horrific to think about. And those thoughts weren’t productive, he though, shutting himself down before he’d work himself into a lather. With a snap, his books were back in their proper places and with a ripple across his back, his wings were out, quickly flying up in the air. Invisible to human eyes, he flew, powerful wings carrying him over towards London, where the most humans were settled. From there, he figured he could spread out and search, if Crowley wasn’t there.

Aziraphale pushed out once more, reaching, searching, scanning over for Crowley. He was beginning to get frustrated, and more than a little frantic, when he felt a violent push. A wave of demonic energy so filled with pain and rage; he almost fell out of the sky from the force. It somehow felt both like Crowley, and nothing like him. It was coming from somewhere underground, and he dove down, wings catching him just before he landed by the nearest Tube station. He blindly followed the dark energy, humans walking around him without ever realizing why.

Eventually he heard the sound of scales shifting on concrete and the rumbling hiss of a large and very angry snake. In through a maintenance door, that was unlocked as no mundane thing could stand in Aziraphale’s way right now. As he grew closer to the droning rattle of snake scales rubbing against themselves, he began to feel the tickle of human magic still lingering in the air like upswept dust particles. Eventually the tunnel led to a closed room, the door lined with salt, probably the only reason Crowley hadn’t burst through it yet.

Aziraphale took a breath to steady himself, and deeply regretted it. He could taste the blood in the air. Before he could think of why there would be blood, he swung open the door, salt staying in place, just in case. There, in the room was a mess of black scales dripping with blood and human matter. It wasn’t the largest he’d seen Crowley, after all, he’d still have to fit in the room somehow. But there was a reason for the myth of the World-Eating Serpent, Jörmungandr.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed out the name with a stunned whoosh. The Serpent whipped around to look at the source of noise, and looking into its eyes, Aziraphale realized this wasn’t Crowley, not at the moment at least. “Oh, oh my dear, it’s okay darling, you’re safe,” he was trying for soothing, but it wasn’t having any visible effect as the Serpent hissed, spitting venom in his face. However, he wasn’t a human and therefore had reflexes humans could only dream of, his arm deflected the blinding liquid. It caused his jacket sleeve to steam and stain, but there were more pressing matters at the moment.

He quickly jumped, avoiding the lightning fast strike that he’d known was coming, as the Serpent tried to bite him. He was in the room now, and the gore was staggering. Humans crushed by impossibly tight coils until they were nothing more than paste decorating the once shining black scales. The heavy scent of blood was cloying and thick, choking the angel. The Serpent seemed to realize that it wasn’t dealing with a mortal man, but a man-shaped being. It coiled tight, drawing up as high as it could in the tight confines of the maintenance room.

Aziraphale wasn’t afraid, not in the typical sense at least. He knew this wasn’t Crowley, the demon would never hurt him, would never even try to strike with the intention of pain. His fist clenched nervously and found the handle of his old blade. The flaming sword back in his grip, he didn’t light it, wouldn’t do to burn his dear boy with holy flame. He raised it up, just in time to catch fangs on the blade, venom dripping down as he used both hands to hold off the bite.

A flinch from the sizzling venom landing on his cheek caused him to jerk his blade back. The pressure abated as the Serpent reared back with a screeching growl, so unlike its mortal counterpart. Aziraphale looked up, black blood spilled from its mouth, then looked down to see the Serpent’s fangs on the ground. Horror flooded through him as burnt black blood splattered him from its swaying.

Despite its lack of fangs, the Serpent continued to strike, snapping just before biting down on Aziraphale. It was of course, no less deadly with sharp needle-like teeth made for preventing prey’s escape. It was, however, easier to dodge, perhaps the blood loss? Or the loss of fangs making the Serpent wary? Wait. No. Oh dear. He was being led, being caged between thick loops of scale and muscle. As soon as he realized, the coils tightened around him. Crushing, or trying to. He was much sturdier than the humans whose remains were painting a macabre picture on the Serpent’s scales.

Still, the angel could feel his corporation protesting, ribs cracking as the pressure mounted. The Serpent leaned in close, regarding the angel almost curiously. Aziraphale’s struggles seemed to amuse it and it chuffed out a hissing laugh. It flicked its tongue, just shy of tasting the angel, scenting the fear in the air. Aziraphale just managed to free an arm and shout, “let there be light!” blinding the Serpent.

The Serpent reared back once more, body relaxing as it tried to get away, and shake the light from its eyes. Aziraphale took the opportunity that it was and tried to scramble up the Serpent’s body, but the sleek scales covered in the slick of gore made it incredibly difficulty. With desperation and fear in his heart, he stabbed into the massive body, not deep enough to penetrate past the thick muscle layer, but still more than he’d have liked. He used the sword as leverage and hoisted himself on top of the Serpent.

The Serpent tried to coil around, hissing angrily as it shook its massive head and looked towards him. It obviously couldn’t blink away the spots, not having eyelids. Still, it could sense well enough with the heat pits and flicking tongue. Aziraphale briefly thought that if it wanted to, it could easily swallow him whole. Taking a risk, a huge monumental risk that Crowley would definitely chastise him for, he reached out and put his hand on the Serpent’s nose, pushed a flair of divine miracle and shouted, “**Remember Who You Are**.”


End file.
